


Something More Comfortable

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [22]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Porn With Plot, Sort Of, casefic, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack are undercover as a favor to a friend of Phryne’s at Scotland Yard, and Phryne has found the perfect dress for the case’s denouement.





	Something More Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> This one time, a while back, I found a photo of a dress that I couldn’t get out of my head. I (of course) neglected to record a link to its source, so I despaired of using it well. Recently, I was complaining about this, and some of my fellow fans - @mercurialbianca, @firesign23, and @cara (jackphryne4eva), and possibly others - helped me track it down. It was worn by Jean Harlow in _Hell’s Angels_ , and it still screams Phryne to me - here, see if you agree: [front](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/563020390910927484/) and [back](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/591238257306039099/). I made some changes, obviously, making it a color that flatters Phryne, leaving off this belty/flowery thing that flattered Jean but didn’t fit my vision, and adjusting the jeweled neckline into a collar, but overall this is pretty much what I was picturing. You’re welcome.
> 
> Also, holy schneikies - this is my 100th fic. I'm... OK with that. Thanks for reading, y'all! You make it fun. :D

Jack stood against one wall of the ballroom, busily turning a nearly empty champagne flute between long fingers. All around him, conversation buzzed as the high-society types who’d been invited to this exclusive party danced and drank and made sure that they were seen. It was an absurd display, not unlike the posturing of rival peacocks as they tried to outdo each other by showing off their plumage.

He’d bet if any one of the attendees realized that their host—the honorable Edward Mountbatten—was a criminal who was about to be arrested, they wouldn’t have attended. Or maybe they would have—this evening’s outcome was likely to bef the talk of the season. And it wasn’t as if these people didn’t realize that Ned (or Neddie, or Ned, darling, depending on who was talking about or to him) sold art. They did, and some likely realized that the provenance of that art was sketchy at best. They just didn’t care. He gave the company some spice, an edge that livened up their dull evenings.

With a small, silent sigh, Jack shifted to lean one hand against the back of a wing chair. He was cross. He hadn’t particularly wanted to get involved in this case, but Phryne had a friend at Scotland Yard who’d called to ask a favor, and she’d seemed so excited, he’d agreed. Now he was stuck here, masquerading as a wealthy Australian steel baron looking for a good Renoir. Personally, he preferred Thomas Moran and Alfred Bierstadt’s realistic renderings of the landscape of the American West, complete with cowboys and Indians that evoked daydreams of Zane Grey novels, but that wasn’t what old Neddie had on offer.

And to add insult to injury, he was having to do the majority of this evening without Phryne. She’d cosied up to Ned, who’d taken an immediate shine to her, keeping her close and closer for the last several days. Jack knew that she’d been playing hard to get, teasing the man and keeping him at arm’s length, but he was a little afraid that if they didn’t bring this case to a close soon, Ned was going to get impatient. He was certain that Phryne could protect herself, but he really hoped she wouldn’t have to. 

Taking his last swallow of champagne, he tilted his hand to check his watch. Phryne was supposed to have arrived fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps he should make his way to the entry hall to see whether he’d just missed her, though he didn’t see how, since he’d been watching the door all evening. Straightening, he prepared himself to move away from the corner he’d made his own when he saw her glide through the doors. The knot in his stomach—something he’d never tell her he felt—loosened at the sight of her. This was his cue.

 

* * *

 

Phryne entered the ballroom, her fur coat sitting soft upon her shoulders. The dress she wore would border on scandalous, and she had to decide when and where to deploy its effects. She hoped that when she did, Jack would be there to see it.

He’d left their shared lodgings several hours ago, well before she’d been dressed and ready, saying that he wanted to meet up with Conrad Bates, her friend at Scotland Yard, before arriving at the party. It was probably just as well—there was a distinct possibility that he would not have been able to resist ravishing her if he’d seen her in this gown. A smirk tilted the corners of her lips. She counted on him being unable to resist her later.

“Phryne, darling!” 

Ned Mountbatten approached as she stood in the entryway, hands outstretched. He was a handsome man, all broad and tawny and shining white teeth, but he did nothing for Phryne. His attitudes were condescending and misogynistic, and he was certain that he’d be in her bed tonight—he’d told her so, saying that he’d purchased a day dress for her to wear home in the morning. It had taken every bit of her considerable acting ability to hide how repugnant she found his presumption to be. In truth, she rather looked forward to him getting his comeuppance. 

“Neddie, how are you?” She took his outstretched hands, expertly angling her face at the last moment so that the kiss he aimed for her lips landed on her cheek. “This place is gorgeous tonight. You’ve outdone yourself!” 

Phryne knew very well that the details of the party had been down to Ned’s secretary Ralph Martin, a young man whose soft voice and eagerness to please belied a steel-strong core of decency. Ralph had gone to Scotland Yard when he first realized the source of Ned’s wealth. He’d helped build the case against the man, until all Scotland Yard needed was to catch Ned with a recently stolen piece; with Jack posing as a buyer, they planned to arrest him tonight. Phryne wondered for a moment whether Ralph had another position lined up for afterward; she could use a good man to help keep her father in line. She made a mental note to send the young man a message after all was said and done.

“Oh well, you know, one does one’s best.” Ned held Phryne’s hands tightly and stretched her arms to the side. “Let me look at you—are you really going to wear that fur all evening?”

“No, but I do want to keep it close,” she said with a light laugh. “I’d forgotten how chilly London can be, and my dress is a bit… insubstantial.” And she had her pistol tucked into an inside pocket as well. If things went badly, she wanted to be prepared. 

Releasing his hands, she began to undo the frogged closures down the front of her coat, her eyes darting around the room in search of her inspector. _There_ , she spied him, standing beside an enormous fireplace flanked by two high-backed leather chairs. In his tuxedo, he nearly took her breath away—he wore it with a confidence that only added to his appeal, his dark hair tamed with pomade and one hand in his pocket, his stance nonchalant. An empty champagne flute dangled from his other hand, and she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. A pulse of arousal made her clench her thighs together; she needed to be careful—this dress did not allow for underthings, and she didn’t want Ned getting the wrong idea.

“Help me with this, will you darling?” She moved around Ned to face Jack, turning her back to their host and shrugging the fur off of her shoulders. She heard Ned suck in a harsh breath as the back of her dress—what there was of it—was revealed, but her eyes were on Jack. Her inspector’s reaction did not disappoint: He’d been mid-step, and he appeared to stagger, reaching out to lay one hand on the back of the chair beside him; his fingers whitened as he gripped the leather, the muscles in his jaw jumping. She was so pleased by Jack’s reaction that she hardly noticed when Ned’s fingers trailed down the bare skin of her back in the guise of removing her coat.

Turning, she took her fur back and laid it over a nearby chair, not incidentally giving Jack a good view of the back of her dress as well. She thought she might have heard his teeth grinding from here. Not that she could blame him.

She’d had the dress made after seeing a motion picture called _Hell’s Angels_ ; it was based on one worn by the film’s ingenue, an actress named Jean Harlow. It was made of thin blood-red velvet that dipped very low between her breasts—low enough to show their lower curves, at the right angle—and even lower at the back, skimming the base of her spine. The halter neckline was attached to a rhinestone collar (she’d considered diamonds, but decided that given the world financial climate, they’d be in bad taste) that attached in the back to a long strand that fell between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. The skirt fell straight from a seam at the waist and was slit to a point above her knees in front while brushing the floor in the back. Her shoes were rhinestone-studded as well, and she was pleased with the way they flashed in the room’s candlelight.

“That frock could give a man a heart attack,” Ned murmured next to her ear. She’d forgotten him for a moment in her enjoyment of Jack’s reaction, and his voice was an unpleasant reminder. “I cannot wait until I can strip you out of it and have my way with your delectable body.”

Phryne managed a light laugh. “You’ll have to earn it first, darling,” she purred. “No woman likes to be taken for granted.” She’d been dodging Ned’s roving hands and lips for days now, and she was more than ready to stop. 

“Then shall we dance?” He winked at her, sure of his appeal, and she laid her hand in his and let him draw her onto the dance floor. She watched over his shoulder as Jack moved around the perimeter of the room, ready to intercept them when the dance was through. When Ned’s hands wandered, she moved them back to more innocent places, wishing that it was Jack’s hands on her body instead.

 

* * *

 

Holy God, that woman was going to kill him.

She had always had avant garde tastes in fashion, but that dress—that dress!—was enough to make any red-blooded man lose his good sense. Jack hoped she knew what she was doing, and he gritted his teeth as Neddie darling’s hand slid down past the skin of her lower back to press against her bottom. Phryne’s laugh as she lifted his hand and replaced it on her waist was carefree, but he knew she had to be fuming. 

And he was doing his best not to think about the fact that there was no way she was wearing anything underneath that gown. Jack swallowed hard, thankful that he’d managed so far to keep his cock from hardening enough to be an embarrassment. He was certain that some of the men he’d seen duck out the doors to the garden or take a step behind a chair as Phryne had unveiled that creation had been hiding their own inadvertent reactions. He was a lucky man, and he knew it.

As Neddiekins ushered Phryne from the dance floor, her hands wrapped around his bicep and her breast plumping against the edge of her bodice from where she’d pressed it against Ned’s arm, Jack moved to intercept. He was caught for a moment by the thought that if she twisted too quickly or breathed too deeply, her nipples would pop out of the deep vee of her neckline. He wondered if she’d rouged them tonight. An image of his hand sliding under the edge of that bodice to cup her breast and hold her so that he could cover her reddened nipple with his lips sprang into his mind, fully formed. He forced it away with a soft curse, his cock reacting predictably to the thought.

They’d been lovers for the two months he’d been here, and his desire for her burned as hot as it had on the long sea journey to join her; he felt his spirit lift every time she entered a room, felt his cock stiffen every time he heard her voice. He was quite ridiculously in love with her, and it made every day an adventure. Even days like today, where he had to watch this degenerate appraise her with lascivious eyes and an expression of proud ownership. A quiet laugh worked its way into his chest. No one owned Phryne Fisher.

“Mountbatten!” Jack forced a note of joviality into his voice as he approached, and Ned turned to look at him. “And the lovely Miss Fisher—you are ravishing tonight.” He took the hand she held out to him and lifted it to press his lips to her knuckles, his fingertips stroking her palm. Slowly trailing his gaze up from her waist, he watched her nipples pebble against the velvet, noted the golden freckles that were sprinkled like stardust across her chest and shoulders, willed her to feel his touch on the column of her neck as he brought his eyes to hers. 

“Thank you, Mr. Robinson,” she breathed, the deep black of her eye makeup giving her eyes the appearance of jewels, and the heat of her desire for him brightening them even more.

“Ah, Robinson,” Neddiepoo said, drawing his attention. “Glad you could make it tonight.”

“As am I,” Jack said, straightening and releasing Phryne’s hand with one last, unnoticeable squeeze, his middle finger stroking the hollow of her palm. “Though I am, unfortunately, being called away. I’m afraid I need to ask if we can complete our business earlier than we’d planned.”

“That is regrettable,” Ned said, with a glance at Phryne—at Phryne’s chest, Jack noted, not at her face. “You’ll excuse us for a little while, won’t you, my sweet?”

“Of course,” Phryne said smoothly. She tilted her cheek up for Ned’s kiss, her eyes on Jack. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Ned whispered in her ear, just loud enough that Jack would hear it. 

He assumed that was to make it clear that this woman belonged to Ned. Too bad Ned was wrong about that.

“I’m sure you will.” Phryne’s smile was sly, and Jack knew that she was thinking about how later, Ned darling would be too busy being arrested to make anything at all up to her.

“Come, then, Robinson,” Ned said, stepping away from Phryne and clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Let’s take care of business, shall we?”

“Lead the way, Mountbatten,” Jack drawled.

 

* * *

 

The final arrest had gone as smoothly as could be expected. The Scotland Yard operatives who’d been hidden inside Mountbatten’s study had waited until the man opened the panel secreted behind a bookshelf and drew out the missing Renoir before they quietly surrounded him. Neddo had attempted to act shocked and disbelieving that the painting was stolen, then he’d tried to point the finger at Jack, claiming that Jack had brought the painting to him and he’d just been storing it.

Jack had probably taken far too much pleasure at pulling out his warrant card, especially given that he didn’t actually have any real authority in England. And then the whole scene got better when Ned had made a break for the door and Phryne, her fur coat dangling from one hand and _that dress_ on full display, had stepped out to hold him at bay with her golden gun. Ned had stopped in his tracks, frozen by the implications of her arrival, and then his expression had twisted into rage, and he’d charged her. Thankfully, Phryne had managed to nimbly step to one side, tripping him as he went by; he’d laid himself out flat on the floor of the hallway, and the police had scurried to secure him.

In quick succession, Ned was clapped in irons and marched out under the avid gazes of his high-society guests, Conrad Bates broke up the party with a minimum of fuss, and Phryne and Jack had been dismissed. 

As the evening had worn on, Jack had been impressed with Bates’ demeanor; he was commanding, and Jack was certain that he saw two or three of the lady guests pass their calling cards into the other man’s hands as he ushered them out the door. The thought had made Jack smirk until he’d watched Bates approach Phryne, his eyes raking over her body in that dress. He couldn’t blame the man for his desire; in fact, Bates’ admiration of Phryne’s dress had reignited Jack’s own. The memory of watching her strip out of that fur, so much of her alabaster-pale skin on view, had sent a renewed pulse of pleasure to his cock. 

Phryne, predictably, had given Jack a sly sideways look; as they talked with Bates, she’d wrapped her fingers around Jack’s bicep in her accustomed way and pressed her breast against him—not incidentally tempting fate and the slippage of her possibly-rouged nipples—and Jack had felt himself hardening further. Why the soft bump of her hip against his was so erotic, he had no idea, but this was Phryne, after all.

And his desire had built from there. He’d driven them back to their flat—rented after his arrival so that they would not be staying with her parents—at a respectable speed, doing his best not to give in to his lady’s murmured suggestions of what they could do if he would just drive faster. He was thankful that she’d put on her fur, or he would have spent the entire drive glancing over to see whether her bodice had given up the ghost.

He’d kept his cool—and concealed his erection—on the walk from the car and into the building’s lobby, where he’d managed a polite greeting for the doorman despite Phryne’s warmth pressed to his side. The elevator was harder, with Phryne’s hands wandering behind the operator’s back; he’d caught her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, as she’d attempted to palm his cock, and she’d smiled sunnily up at him when he’d tried to chide her with a glance. He’d tipped the man with a nod and walked sedately to their door, fitting the key into the lock and ushering her through.

That was where his control ended.

The moment the front door closed behind them, Jack set his back against it and pulled Phryne to him by the hand he still held.

“Ja—” 

The growl that was all the sound that he could manage as he covered her mouth with his was animalistic, and felt so good that he did it again, this time deep in his chest, as his tongue speared between her lips.

Phryne whimpered, her body pliant against his, her hands fisting around his lapels to pull him closer. Dimly, Jack thought that he should remove his overcoat and let her remove her fur, that they would be more comfortable in the wide bed they’d shared for the past weeks, but he couldn’t stop himself. Sliding his hands around to her front, he tugged at the frogged closures of her fur, popping them open one by one to slip his hands inside; at the same time, he stepped forward only far enough to make sure that they’d have a soft landing on the carpet runner before bearing her down to the floor. 

The velvet of her dress rubbed gently against his palms as he ran his hands over her, and the satin lining of her fur was cool and slick against his knuckles as he pulled her dress up to bare her sex. Phryne’s gasp when his fingers slid into the wetness between her thighs was his favorite sound in the world, and he rewarded her for it by trailing kisses down her neck and across the skin bared by the nearly indecent neckline of her gown.

Her fingers scrabbled at his trouser fastenings, and he moaned aloud when she wrapped them warm and tight around his cock. Tucking his fingers into her bodice, he tugged, pulling one panel aside to bare her nipple—which was, as he’d wondered, lightly rouged; its color not as deep as the red of her dress, but darker than her usual pale pink. She pulled him closer, and he sank gratefully into the heat of her body even as his mouth closed over that tempting nipple.

Phryne let out an inarticulate cry as he bottomed out inside her; she tugged the skirt of her gown higher so that she could widen her knees, and Jack felt the pinch of her heel against his backside when she wrapped one leg around his hip. He suckled hard at her nipple; her rouge tasted like roses, the floral tones complementing the salt-sweetness of her skin. His other hand, still slick with her juices, he slid under the other half of her bodice to cover her breast, its softness rivalling that of the velvet she wore.

Jack’s breath labored in his lungs as he began to move against her, his hips making short, sharp jabs, his cock aching with the need to come. With each entry, he ground himself against her, trying to stimulate her clitoris; by the changing tone of her pleasured cries, he was succeeding, and he increased his speed even as he switched to lick the rouge off of her other nipple before pulling as much of her breast as he could into his mouth.

“Yes!” she cried, one hand spearing into his hair to grasp and hold a handful; the other hand slid around to squeeze his bottom, pressing and pulling to urge him into greater speed.

Jack complied, his hips pistoning against her now, his mouth open against her breast. Her cries became a high-pitched keening as he slapped her clit with his body; without warning, she shattered, her body stiffening as her muscles locked with orgasm. The muscular squeezing around his cock was the cue Jack needed to let himself go, and he pressed hard inside her as his own climax rocketed through him. His teeth closed less than gently on the curve of her breast, and Phryne screamed, a second climax following hard on the heels of the first. 

 

* * *

 

Long minutes later, Phryne roused to find herself covered in warm, delicious-smelling man. Jack was still buried inside her body, his cock softer and smaller than it had been, but not entirely finished yet, she judged. With a groan, he pushed up on his hands and looked her over. She was certain that her hair was wild against the carpet runner; her bodice was pushed aside, baring her breasts, and the front of her dress was rucked up to her waist. Jack still wore both his tuxedo and his overcoat, and her fur lay open and lush beneath her. His hair had escaped its pomade to flop over his forehead, it stuck out where she’d grabbed it, and her lipstick was smeared around his mouth.

She laughed softly, a low, satisfied sound, and stretched languidly as he moved off of her. He stood, shrugging out of his overcoat; he tossed it lightly onto the hook by the front door, then reached to offer her his hand.

“You all right?” His question was soft, and her eyes flashed to his as she took him up on his offer to help her rise.

She didn’t bother to rearrange her bodice, but her skirt fell back into position as she stood; she continued the forward motion, leaning into him.

“Better than,” she whispered, her lips coming to brush his. “That was far less controlled than I would have expected of you, Jack. Not that I’m complaining.”

Jack’s ears turned red—it was a tell that she adored about him. He was unrestrained in his lovemaking, definitely, but when she complimented him, he blushed.

“You were irresistable,” was all he said, his smile almost shy. 

“I’m so glad.” Phryne turned in his arms to let her fur fall into his hands, then began to move away down the hall.

As she walked, she let her hips sway, knowing that his eyes were on her and that the sparkling line of gems that fell down her back would draw his eye. The cool air of the flat brushed her exposed nipples, and she reached up to unhook the bodice from the jeweled collar, letting the cloth fall to her waist just as she turned to go into their bedroom. Keeping herself in profile to Jack, she looked back at him—he was still standing in the entryway, his tuxedo jacket partway off, as if he’d begun to remove it and forgotten what he was doing. His cock was rapidly hardening again, and it stood lewdly to attention through the opening of his flies, its deep red tip nudging the front of his waistcoat.

Pausing, she unhooked the rhinestone collar from her neck and let it fall as well, stepping daintily out of the dress, careful not to catch her shoes in the fabric. Lifting the dress up, she slung it casually across her shoulder. Meeting Jack’s eyes, she took the last step into their bedroom. She smiled as she heard him burst into motion, and by the time he reached the doorway, she’d shed her shoes and was turning down the bed, her back to the door.

“Hurry up, Jack,” she said, crawling onto the bed with a glance over her shoulder. He hadn’t wasted time—he’d pulled off his shoes and socks and was busily unbuttoning his shirt. “I’d hate to waste a minute of that dress.”

“Don’t move, Miss Fisher,” he growled. Pulling his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket off in one swift motion, Jack shucked his trousers and moved to the bed. He set one large hand at the small of her back and slid the other between her thighs. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Oh, goody,” she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed as he stroked her, his long fingers deft on the sensitive tissues of her sex.

Jack climbed onto the bed, leaning his chest against her back, his skin hot and smooth against hers. He continued to tease her with one hand as his other cupped the breast he’d bitten, fingers lightly playing with the small marks he’d left.

“That dress was almost enough to hamper our operation this evening,” he murmured, his voice dark and smooth as he placed his mouth beside her ear. Licking her earlobe into his mouth, he sucked at it gently, and Phryne gasped at the sensation. “I could barely think for looking at you.”

Phryne turned her head, her hand coming up to push into his hair again—she loved its texture and the way his curls wrapped around her fingers, not to mention how he responded when she pulled it. Her mouth opened over his, her tongue slipping between his lips in a kiss as carnal as their coupling had been. The slide of his fingers into her body made her moan, and she felt Jack’s lips curve against hers.

“Are you going to punish me, inspector?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” He began to move his fingers, his thumb strumming against her clitoris; his other hand pinched lightly at her nipple. “And you’ll deserve everything I give you.”

“Do your worst, copper,” she breathed, and she felt his laugh all the way down to her sex. Then there was no talking at all as he took her at her word. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the movie as well, a quote that I didn’t realize was from this movie: Jean Harlow’s character says (while wearing this dress), “Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?” In this case, Phryne’s something more comfortable is really the contrast between Mountbatten and her own Jack. Comfort, indeed, ifyouknowwhatimean. ;)


End file.
